


I Do Not Like Thee, Doctor Fell

by SomeBratInAMask



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Christmas, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-01-04
Updated: 2014-01-04
Packaged: 2018-01-07 09:14:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1118140
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SomeBratInAMask/pseuds/SomeBratInAMask
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Wishing you some holiday cheer –<br/>And a round of beer –<br/>At my awesome annual Christmas party!!!!!</p><p>	Ivan grimaced, partly amused for all the swarming disappointment.<br/>“Well?” Alfred prodded. “What do you think?”<br/>Ivan considered for a moment, canting his head. “I think you should buy the cards that already come with poems.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>It's the holiday season, which means Alfred will be hosting his annual Christmas party. Ivan, the newest addition to the gated community, gets under his skin. When a neighbor mentions Ivan will be having guests over for a dinner of his own, Alfred knows Ivan means a challenge. It's an audacious move for a newcomer, but Alfred is confident he can put Ivan back in his place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I Do Not Like Thee, Doctor Fell

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Pancakeholic](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Pancakeholic).



There was a special amount of tacky that went into Christmas decorating pre-Thanksgiving.

Because celebrating Christmas before Thanksgiving was like smiling at the first customer in line, before turning to ask what the next person in line wanted, while everyone else in the store was complaining, “What about Thanksgiving? They’ve been waiting for, like, a year!” Alfred had had experience in the service industry before, as a treasured McDonald’s part-timer, so he knew that poor work ethic like that had serious repercussions. Nominally, being fired.

Yet, below and across the street from Alfred’s balcony was Ivan, winding Christmas lights around his front-yard tree. In November.

_Sixteen hours prior to Thanksgiving._

If he could fire Ivan from celebrating the holidays, he totally would.

 

Unfortunately, Alfred was helplessly stranded as his neighbor flouted an entire national holiday in a _mother-freaking_ Santa hat. He bit down on his bottom lip to contain the feral snarl ripping its way through his throat.

“Is everything okay?” His roommate was hovering by the open screen door, wearing an outgrown Naruto t-shirt that’s hem brushed an inch below his bellybutton. He was cradling a giant Captain America mug two sizes too big for his delicate hands. _Though,_ his fingers were kind of long and alien-like, now that they had Alfred’s attention. “I was making myself some tea to wake up and I thought I heard a distressed whine.”

“Wasn’t me.” Alfred elevated his chin.

_“Deflection.”_

“What? Hey, wait, come check this out.” Alfred’s arm gestured Kiku forward spastically. Kiku peered over the veranda, gracefully ducking the flying arm threatening to nail him. “Look at this dickwad, Kiku. Are you looking?”

“I’m looking.”

“Look at him; he’s stringing up lights!”

“I thought we established I’m looking.”

 Ivan flipped a switch, causing the red and green lights to blink, which Alfred swore was a challenge. His jaw clenched. “Look, ever since–”

“I’ll establish I’m not blind.”

“ _Ever since_ he moved here, I can’t get a day’s worth of peace,” Alfred began dramatically. “Either he’s mowing his lawn at, like, eleven in the morning, or he’s sticking that stupid little Russian flag in his lawn, or he’s drinking vodka – or some equally Eastern-European shit – on his porch, without even a bag.”

“It’s not Prohibition still, is it?” Kiku glanced at his wrist, but let it slump lamely to his side when he wasn’t wearing a watch.

“There are kids living here.”

Kiku shook his head quickly, black bangs swishing before settling neatly back in place. “You have to be twenty-five or older to live here.”

“Yeah, without a parent’s consent. I mean, they don’t kick people out if they decide to raise a child.”

“They do.”

Alfred mulled that over. “That’s not nice. This is supposed to be a tight-knit community.”

“It is a _very_ tight-knit community.” Kiku sipped his tea. “Until you disturb the peace. Then it is a very tight-knit community without you.”

Alfred puckered his lips to the side thoughtfully. “Then how come Mister Foreigner hasn’t been kicked out?”

“What has he done in the two months he’s lived here that has disturbed the peace?”

Alfred’s brain instantly compiled a list of offenses committed against him, but was struggling to find one that actually broke the gated community’s rules.

“Aside from agitate you,” Kiku added.

“Ah!” Alfred cheered. “Harassment!”

“Of you?”

“Of everyone! He’s vicariously upsetting everyone by harassing me!” Alfred’s volume afforded him a curious stare from Ivan. Alfred almost flinched before he regained his sense of self and promptly stuck his tongue out. In lieu of a really scathing remark that would’ve utterly shattered Ivan’s self-esteem, because Alfred was nothing if not magnanimous.

Ivan tucked strands of his hair behind his ear and smiled. “Having a nice morning, my friends?” He called.

“Kiku, he’s a ‘My Friend’ guy. Oh, my God, I _knew_ he was a ‘My Friend’ guy,” Alfred stage-whispered.

“I can hear you. Which makes me think you’re not trying too hard to spare my feelings.” Why did Ivan always sound like he’s laughing, but not in a good way?

“Maybe I’m just a bad whisperer!” Alfred retorted.

“I’m sure you are, but even bad whisperers don’t whisper loud enough for people to hear them across the street. You should take care not to so readily pick fights in the future. Not everyone’s temper is as charitable as mine.” His tone didn’t translate as charitable at all.

“Yeah, not taking life advice from a guy in a misplaced Santa hat and a _pink cat_ crocheted-or-whatever-the-fuck on his sweater.” Alfred crossed his arms and scoffed for punctuation.

Kiku retreated from his stance near the balcony. “Um, I’m getting cold. I’m going to finish my tea in the living room. Would you like a cup of a coffee, or something?” He offered, walking backwards.

Alfred didn’t break eye contact with Ivan. “Yeah,” he answered, content to leave it at that. But, then he hastily whipped around to say, “Oh, but could you pour your tea into another cup? Because you’re kind of using my Captain America mug and I want to use it.”

Kiku pursed his lips, a “hum” slipping through. “I’ll see what I can do.”

“Thanks, man,” Alfred said to Kiku’s back. To Ivan, he warned, “You’re going to make everyone sick of Christmas before it even _comes._ Maybe you could dial it down on the eagerness, _friend._ ”

Ivan smiled cheekily. “Of course! What are pals for?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

Ivan was a behaved boy, he swears. He had been well-behaved all his life. The firm hand of his father, always clearing a room the moment it struck, instilled in him a silence that was carried past the Seen Not Heard years. He dealt with a day's every unpleasant trinket - and there were many - with a polite, defusing smile. But, Alfred wasn't Ivan's father - an admittedly juvenile revelation for his age - and the quiet neither scared nor satiated him. In retrospect, a shouting match months ago would've likely removed Alfred from his peaceful gated community dream. Too little, too late. That was why Ivan turned on the Christmas soundtrack audio in his lights on the way inside. The bellowing "Oh, my God!" from across the street blanketed Ivan in the feeling of a good day.

He’d turn it off before dinner.

           'Before dinner' arrived sooner than Ivan had originally planned, although that's the trickiness of 'before' schedules - they never ensure sufficient relaxation in the meantime. Approximately twenty minutes after entering his home, the heat just now kicking in, a dissonance of door-banging and demands for door-opening drowned out the soft cello exhaling from his living room stereo. Ivan emerged from his nest of decorative pillows and gathered quilts with zeal he chalked up to irritation. He estimated Alfred took five minutes to aggrandize the force of his audacity against his reason, ten minutes to relent to his roommate's pleas to wear a jacket, and another five minutes to travel the distance from his house to Ivan's.

 

            Ivan was greeted by a smug – if not a touch grumpy – face and a red envelope shoved at him.

            “Delivery!” Alfred announced. His bomber jacket hung over his shoulders unzipped and slightly wrinkled.

            Ivan gingerly accepted the bright parcel, hoping his expression displayed how bewildering Alfred was to him, sans voicing it. “I wasn’t aware you were a courier. You should’ve told me you provided correspondence gratis. I wouldn’t have opted for the newspaper.”

            “What?” Alfred said. “Whatever – just read it.”

            “Uh-huh, just let me get my letter-opener first,” Ivan responded. He placed his palm on the door knob, readying to close it.

            “Letter-opener?” Alfred repeated, scrunching up his nose. “No, just tear it open, it’s not even sealed – hey!” He smacked the door inward before it could shut half-way, rattling the porcelain figurines aligned along the wall shelves. Ivan eyed the knick-knacks warily.

            “Yes?” Ivan asked pleasantly, grip tightening on the knob.

            “Why don’t you read the invitation?”

            Ivan sighed. “Am I invited somewhere?” He slid the card out while Alfred rolled his eyes.

            “Read it and find out. Seriously, do you know how much time we could’ve saved if you would just, like, read it?”

            “Well, I’m just, like, reading it now.” The card was also red. Golden spirals of glitter embossed the edges. In the center was a very adorable picture of a penguin ice-skating. Upon opening it, was a note scrawled in what Ivan could now acquaint as Alfred’s handwriting. (It was not nearly as sloppy as Ivan might’ve predicted; a virtue he was happy to have found.)

 

_Wishing you some holiday cheer –_

_And a round of beer –_

_At my awesome annual Christmas party!!!!!_

 

            Ivan grimaced, partly amused for all the swarming disappointment.

            “Well?” Alfred prodded. “What do you think?”

            Ivan considered for a moment, canting his head. “I think you should buy the cards that already come with poems.”

            “I meant are you going.”

            “Ah, right. Hm.” Ivan folded his arms, tapping his foot. Then, reaching for the door, “I’ll RSVP you.”

            “Freeze!”

            Ivan halted on the off-chance Alfred might say something worth hearing.

            Alfred sucked in a calming breath. The breath was likely less to calm himself and more to exhibit his agitation, because his proceeding words were a whole lot sassier for it. Enunciating slowly, “I am _trying_ to get you to go to my _party._ Could you _cooperate, please?”_

            The argument was out of his mouth before Ivan even contemplated it. He wanted to test how far he could push before Alfred decided he didn’t want Ivan to go after all. “What if I’m busy that day?”

            The expression Alfred wore was decidedly the most damaging insult Ivan had received in _years._ “When are you ever busy? I swear, you don’t even leave your porch, unless to put up Christmas decorations, like, a year in advance.”

            Alfred didn’t have a filter, did he? Ivan wanted to laugh, but then he also wanted to punch a hole in the wall. “Even misanthropes are busy on the holidays,” he settled for. He briefly pondered what Alfred’s reaction would be, if he did bust his walls via bare fists, right here and now.

            “Okay, but dude, I bet you didn’t even look at the date. If I asked you to recite it, you couldn’t, could you? At least look at the date.” Alfred’s expression was pained enough to convince Ivan to quit screwing around.

           

_Date: 12/15_

_Time: 7:00 PM_

_Day: Sunday_

 

Ivan raised his eyebrows. “How long is this party for? Is deafening music allowed past 4 AM?” A portion of him worried that 4 AM was closer to the truth than he was intending.

Alfred shrugged, the sleeve of his jacket slipping off his shoulder. He tugged it back up impatiently. “It’s fine. You can play music till eleven here normally, and I pay an additional fee every year to host these things after bedtime.” How did that even work? “Not that there’s ever been a complaint, since pretty much _everyone_ attends.”

            “I’m sure.” There was no denying Alfred had charisma.

“So?” Alfred rocked on the balls of his feet expectantly.

            Ivan ran his thumb across the card, glitter powdering his skin. He should slam the door in his face, deal Alfred a firm _no._ Better yet – leave him hanging with something noncommittal.

But Alfred made it hard to lie, to inhibit, to act like he was supposed to act. He was unsure of himself when it came to Alfred. He could not honestly say he _liked_ the guy, but he felt less tense around him. There was this easiness to the air when Alfred spoke, a relief from _himself_.  It must’ve been his open attitude that lightened the atmosphere, ensuring Ivan that no matter what was exchanged between them, it was at least truthful. Alfred didn’t expect anything from Ivan, didn’t burden him with obligatory niceties or social etiquette. And Alfred wasn’t burdening himself with that bullshit, either; he was not hiding cards up his sleeves. What you saw is what you got. Ivan didn’t have to be calculating around him.

            And that was that. If Alfred wasn’t over-thinking inviting him, then Ivan wasn’t over-thinking accepting. “Well, I wouldn’t dare miss out on a friend’s celebration.” Ivan bit his lip. He thought he had kicked that nervous habit.

            Alfred’s lips peeled back to reveal a toothy grin. There were indentations on his bottom lip. He was a lip-biter, too. Ivan flicked his gaze to see if Alfred bit his nails, but before he could find out, Alfred was launching his fists in the air.

            “ _Sweet!_ Dude, you are totally going to balk when you see it. My party. I heard from Eduard that you’re having people over a little before Christmas – don’t give me that baffled face, I have intel on _everybody_ here – which is not creepy! So, yeah, my party – definitely better than yours. You’ll like it. Fuck, you’ll _love_ it. I mean, I’ll be upstaging you, but it won’t even matter, because you’ll be having a blast. _Agh,_ great, awesome!”

            “I’m not throwing – ” Ivan was not bestowed a single sentence, apparently, before Alfred was zipping back down the street.

 

            Ivan collapsed onto the couch. Alfred invited him to upstage a party Ivan wasn’t throwing? Ivan sniggered, arm splayed over his eyes as he leaned his head back. He was even honest about his ulterior motives. _Obviously,_ he would be. That was just _so._ So _Alfred_ of him. Because ‘childish’ and ‘stupid’ couldn’t convey all the affection Alfred’s name weirdly did.

**Author's Note:**

> 1) This is ridiculously late  
> 2) I feel as if I could've done better  
> 3) There's a lot of information I wanted to add to this chapter, as well as details to flesh out their personalities and the context. But I've already taken way too long to finish this, so I'm not going to go to the extent.  
> 4) Kiku doesn't actually get a different mug.  
> 5) My original plot is hugely different from the plot now. My original idea was to have Al and Ivan trying to upstage one another in a battle for the most festive yard on the block. It was fun to think about.


End file.
